


ember

by astronomii



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomii/pseuds/astronomii
Summary: For a fire that had once burned so bright, you were now picking at the ashes hoping for a spark.





	1. extinguish

**Author's Note:**

> i promised myself i wouldn't write a story.......... but here i am.  
> feedback is appreciated!

You felt oddly numb.

The severity of the situation had just barely sunken in and you could only wonder why. Why had this happened? Why did it have to be him? Why did you not react faster? Why did he save you? Why, why, why?

You tear your gaze from the marble white floors of the palace when you hear a choked sob beside you. Sharena was crying. Sweet, kind, joyous Sharena was crying. You couldn't open your mouth to speak. No comforting words could be exchanged because you knew they would only serve as false hope, lies.

What could you say?

Nothing could change what had already happened.

Anna, for once, could only stare emptily down the hall. She offered what little comfort she could to the crying princess, while Fjorm stood as coldly as ever to the side. The princess of Nifl had not uttered a single word since the news was delivered. You could understand why. She had lost her sister, Gunnthrá, to King Surtr recently.

There seemed to be a lot of victories these days but not without grievances. Empty victories. For the proud and revered summoner of Askr, you didn't feel too accomplished. 

Now the prince of Askr lay awake with minor injuries, but he had no recollection of anyone, not even himself. You couldn't decide which hurt more: to lose a loved one for good, or to lose a loved one to themselves. 

"Why Alfonse? Why my brother?" Sharena managed to mutter a few words in disbelief before promptly bursting into tears. 

You could hear the anguish in Sharena's voice as her sobs grew louder in the seemingly empty halls. You clenched the hems of your sleeves tighter until you felt your nails digging into your palms through the fabric. Fjorm glanced over for a brief moment and you met her eyes.

"It's not your fault," the ice princess softly murmured as she rested a hand on top of yours. You couldn't help but notice it trembled slightly. 

You felt your throat grow dry as the words you wanted to say choked up. Instead, you offered a small nod before gently taking the princess's hand in yours and giving it a small squeeze of reassurance. You couldn't tell if you were trying to reassure her or yourself. 

You would do something to fix this, you had to. If not for Sharena, Anna, Fjorm, and all the others who have put faith in you; you would most certainly do this for Alfonse. 

Without another word, you straightened your posture from resting on the wall and walked toward the direction of the infirmary with your cloak fluttering behind you. White and gold, those were the colors the Order of Heroes wore, they were the colors Alfonse wore. You felt the weight of the world on your shoulders as Sharena's sobs slowly faded in the background. 

You were Askr's summoner, and there was still work to be done. 

 

* * *

 

Alfonse remembers waking up with a headache in a white room.

White walls, white sheets, white floors; it almost resembles a box. The past few hours were strange to say the least. He doesn't remember being here before and it certainly doesn't remotely resemble anything he remembers. He looks down at his clothes and frowns at what he's wearing. He's wearing some kind of armor, but he doesn't remember lifting a sword in his life.

Something is wrong, he realizes. Something is terribly wrong. 

There's a gasp of both relief and joy coming from the door and Alfonse sees a girl with blonde hair, in a similarly fashioned outfit to his, worriedly rush to his side accompanied by a redhead in similar clothing. 

"Alfonse, you're alright!" she cries out and hugs him tightly. 

He can't even reciprocate the hug as his mind draws up a blank space where this person's name should be. He doesn't know her. The person he is hugging is a stranger. The blonde picks up his confusion and hesitation and matches his startled expression with a frown.

"Alfonse, what's wrong? Should I call a healer? I'll go get Kiran if you want, I know you want to make sure she's okay."

"It's... fine," he says with much apprehension, "I-I'm sorry, but do I... know you?"

The blonde lets his go as if her hands have been doused in hot oil. She recoiled, fear making its way into her eyes. The redhead seemed almost in disbelief before it quickly turned to annoyance. She was quick to deliver a biting remark. 

"Prince Alfonse, this isn't funny. Your sister and Kiran were both worried sick about you."

It wasn't possible for him to lie. He really didn't know anything.

"I'm sorry," he began apologetically, "I think you have the wrong person. I'm not a prince, and I'm sure I don't have a sister. I'm not quite sure where I am right now."

The redhead could only press her lips together before rushing out to bring a healer in. The healer was a short blonde girl with a seemingly peppy aura around her, but, after examining him for further injuries, she could only sadly shake her head lowly.

It was amnesia. 

There was no guarantee when he'd get his memories back, but at least he had a reason for not remembering. The blonde was crying into the redhead's shoulder, but Alfonse couldn't offer any kinds words. He can't tell her it's fine; he hardly knows what the definition of fine is. 

Before they left, Alfonse barely catches the name Kiran leaving his supposed sister's mouth again. The frown that etched itself deeply into the redhead's face gave it away. Kiran must've also been someone he knew. There was loneliness that came with the name, and Alfonse wonders why there seems to be a hole in his chest. Between thinking and trying to remember, Alfonse closes his eyes for a little while longer, dreaming of heroes and a face he can't quite remember. 

He wakes up again a few hours later. This time, more aware of his own situation than he was previously.

There's a soft knock on the closed door of his room and he realizes that it's already the middle of the night. He wasn't expecting any visitors, so he quickly sits up and tries to tame his hair that was sticking up at odd angles. He has blue hair with gold tips, what an interesting combination. 

Alfonse is just fixing the rest of his clothing when he hears the door swing open with the softest of creaks. The stranger wears a white hood with gold designs and carried a candle with a small flickering flame. They seem startled by his appearance and almost drop the small basket they're carrying in the other hand. 

He can't see their face, but somehow he recognizes them. They're female, he thinks. However, he couldn't tell for sure. Her lips, the only thing that isn't concealed by her hood, seemed to formed a surprised 'o' when she realizes he's awake before it curved into a soft, gentle smile. 

She walks over to him and sets the basket down. Alfonse smells warm bread and his stomach rumbles. When was the last time he had eaten something? Probably too long. 

"In the basket there's food and some water. There's also a book to read in case you're tired of staring at the wall," light mirth seemed to fill her tone but there was also unspoken sadness with her words. "It's late, so I must go. Good night, Prince Alfonse."

Before she turns to leave, Alfonse catches her by the sleeve of her cloak. His heart is screaming at him to say something, anything, to get her to stay for just a little while longer. He didn't even know her name, but there's was the familiarity about her that made him want her to stay. 

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" he asks finally, loosening his hold on her robe after uttering an apology. He seemed to be apologising for a lot of things today. 

Alfonse looks at her face, at the part he can see with the hood, and he realizes that she's crying. Crystal-like tears stream down her cheeks, and he couldn't say anything. The hole in his chest twinged ever so slightly.

"No," she finally says when her voice no longer wavered, "I'm Kiran; it's nice to meet you, Prince Alfonse."


	2. flicker

You didn't know why you stayed.

Every second spent by Alfonse's side made the guilt gnawing at your heart increase tenfold. Alfonse was bright like the sun. Being in the same room as him in his current state felt suffocating. You were afraid to breathe knowing that you would surely run out of air. 

Your robes made your hands feel clammy. Was it just you, or did the whole room seem warmer?

Alfonse didn't look different from how he usually looked, but why was it that he now felt like no one more than a complete stranger.

He had the same ridiculous blue hair with gold tips that you used to think was dyed. He wore the same armor he proudly displayed before battle. He had the same patient look to his eyes that made you feel that even if you made a mistake, you would still be forgiven. His lips were still drawn in a shy, albeit somewhat awkward, smile. 

It was hard to think he simply wasn't the same person. It really was. 

The Alfonse now, the Alfonse before; they were both Alfonse.

Maybe it was the way he just would slightly advert his gaze to the side when he spoke to you, or when he tugged at the ends of the sheets when he felt uncomfortable, or when he would let out a shaky and almost breathy laugh after he talked about something not even mildly amusing, was what told you that, although he was Alfonse, he wasn't your Alfonse. The thought alone stung like rubbing salt on a gaping, bleeding wound. 

You kept up the pleasant small talk for awhile, but it was becoming apparent that you were slowly running out of things to say. The two of you chatted about mundane things such as hobbies and personal preferences; Alfonse had done his best to answer most of the questions, usually following his small responses with a quiet 'I think' or 'I'm sorry'.

You think this Alfonse apologizes a lot for something that isn't really his fault. Just like your Alfonse. 

You try to catch a yawn from escaping your lips to no avail. Even with a hood, Alfonse catches your slight movement and matches it with a smile. You don't think he's ever stopped smiling since you arrived. 

"I'm boring you, aren't I?" Alfonse says apologetically. "It's my fault I don't remember a lot of things. I'm sorry."

He looks away with such a guilty expression it takes all your self control to not breakdown in front of him again. Instead, you clasp his hand softly in your own. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull away and only stares at you with the same guilty expression. You think if this boy could feel any guilty you'd suffocate in your own self conscious. Maybe the words slipped from your lips faster than you can process them, but you knew were true. 

"No, Alfonse. It's not your fault," you say, before quietly adding, "it was never your fault." 

Alfonse's eyes widen and you realize your mistake. 

"Prince Alfonse," you corrected yourself, "it's not your fault."

It wasn't just Alfonse anymore, but  _Prince_ Alfonse. You weren't one for titles, but you felt that this was needed. The quicker you helped Alfonse remember himself, you could finally atone for your mistakes. 

You wondered if you had taken the fall instead, would you be here instead of Alfonse. The idea seemed tempting. Askr needed their prince more than their summoner. Their prince would lead their empire to great heights. You just worked in the sidelines. Alfonse could easily take your job in commanding the heroes and no one would see a difference. Compared to Alfonse, you felt useless. 

It should've been you, but it just wasn't. 

"If it wasn't my fault that I'm like this," Alfonse says, resting a steady hand on top of yours, "then, I'm positive it isn't yours either."

You notice how calm he seems. His hand didn't shake like Fjorm's did. 

Your throat feels raw with emotion and you're afraid of crying again in front of the prince. You wanted to be mad, mad at yourself, mad at Alfonse, mad at the Emblian Empire, but it wasn't just one person at fault. 

The room's silent for a little while longer before you suddenly stand up, your hands, now free, falling at your sides. You fix the hood over your face in case it had slipped a little bit before preforming a quick bow in front of the prince. 

"It's late, Prince Alfonse. You should get some rest. Princess Sharena and Commander Anna would like to speak with you tomorrow," you pause to keep your emotions in check, "I'll be taking my leave now. Good night."

This time, unlike the last, Alfonse didn't stop you. 

 

* * *

 

Alfonse doesn't move, but his eyes seem to follow her as she left the room. The warmth of her hand still lingered on his, and his fingers curled already missing the comfort of her hand. 

As the door shut behind her, Alfonse allows a small laugh, that's hardly louder than a breath, to escape his lips. It was funny how he barely knew her, but it also felt like he's known her for years. There was a certain familiarity to her that felt like the first warm breeze of spring or the first snowflake signaling the beginning of winter. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could only draw up a blank space where she was supposed to be. He knew only her name and a few of her favorites things but nothing else. 

Looking through what little memories he retained was like swimming through dark, murky waters. He couldn't tell where he was going, and he was afraid that, if he were to stay underwater too long, he would surely drown. 

He felt that is was almost laughable how emotional he was becoming without another presence, that wasn't his own, in the room. Alfonse couldn't be a prince; he downright refused to be a prince. No kingdom deserved a ruler who couldn't even keep his own head on his shoulders, both figuratively and literally. He may still be alive, but, without his memories of being a prince, the Askran Kingdom may as well become a republic. 

Alfonse picked up the basket Kiran left behind and set it on his lap. She said there was food in it, but he felt as if he lost his appetite completely. The bread was still warm and there were some cheese and assorted fruits. A single flask of water remained packed neatly to the side as well as the book Kiran had mentioned. 

Slowly, he pulled the book out. It was a thin book, probably not more than an hour read, but Alfonse smiled nonetheless upon seeing the cover. 

_The Little Prince_ , how fitting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> askjhlkdsc it hurts giving my son angst but i got bunfonse & my motivation to update this story slapped me in the face


	3. burn

You woke up with bleary eyes and a pounding headache. Scrolls lay sprawled out lazily in front of you, while papers of your barely legible scribbles scattered the floor. The candle, which you had carelessly left burning, had burned out completely; the remaining wax formed a puddle at the bottom of the brass dish. You must've accidentally fallen asleep when you were nitpicking and rewriting all the battle tactics and strategies you deemed unusable in the next battle.

Things needed to be perfect to avoid all further casualties. You would hate if someone else suffers the same fate Alfonse did. 

Cursing a bit to yourself, you wondered why couldn't you have bothered to write a little bit neater. The scribbles on the paper looked like a cross between script writing and complex loops. While you scrutinized the piles of messy handwriting with a frown on your face, a soft knock on the door roused you from your frustrations. 

"Come in," you mumbled sleepily, not even bothering to hide your fatigue. 

A concerned Fjorm stepped quietly inside, almost hesitant, as if she was afraid of disturbing whatever you had become in the past twenty-four hours. The door shut with a soft click behind her as you finally drew your attention away from the monstrous flurry of papers. The ice princess looked worse for wear over the tragedies that only seemed to repeat, but you knew from the worry lines etched on her face that you weren't doing any better.

She took in your stillness with a permanent frown etched on her face. You don't think you've ever seen her smile, not yet at least. The Fjorm in your memories was grateful, hurt, and angry, but never happy. You suppose now isn't the time for such unneeded emotions. Alfonse was injured and left in an uncertain condition with the slimmest possible chances of recovering, and Fjorm was left without a sister and her homeland was lost to flames. Straightening herself up, Fjorm spoke softly first. 

"Kiran, have you eaten yet? Prince Takumi is worried." 

There wasn't any questions of your well-being, or if you were feeling alright; those questions seemed to personal about the matter on hand. Instead, Fjorm got straight to the point. This was a war, after all. If you were looking for pleasantries, or a shoulder to cry your heart out on, here certainly wasn't the time or place.

Steeling your gaze so that you steadily met Fjorm's without wavering, you shook your head in a no fashion before hastily getting up and tucking all the paperwork into one neat stack. Making sure everything was in some array for you to look back on, you took Fjorm's hand in your own. 

"Shall we, Fjorm?"

The princess looked at her hand in your own, before reciprocating the small gesture with a light squeeze and the barest traces of a smile you would've certainly missed had you not paid attention.

Askr and Nifl were in your hands now. In order to protect your family, you would have to first be strong enough to support them in times of need - even if that meant pushing aside your personal troubles for now. Ignoring your heavy heart, you shot Fjorm a matching smile from underneath your hood. At times like these, you were glad that your cloak hid the unshed tears in your eyes. 

With a wavering voice that grew stronger with each word, Fjorm answered your call as she began to find her voice once more.

"Yes; let's go, Kiran."

 

* * *

 

Word spreads fast in the Kingdom of Askr.

Most of the time, the gossip flitting amongst chatty heroes was enough to fill in Takumi with details of what exactly happened. of course, he would occasionally inquire passersby, but for the most part, he tended to stick to himself and his siblings. When he heard you were almost injured on the battlefield, something inside him stung. He should've been there to protect her in place of the other prince.

The prideful part of him was wounded because he constantly reminded himself that if it were him, he wouldn't have gotten injured.

He wouldn't have caused her such anguish. 

Takumi knew she held the Askr prince in high regards, but he wished she would share the burden with him too. Even though he won't openly admit it to anyone, with the exception of his sister Sakura, he had come to strangely care for Askr's headstrong, yet clumsy, summoner.

She was the first person he met when he had been abruptly stolen from his homeland of Hoshido and brought to the continent of Zenith in order to fight against Embla. When the first initial battle was over with, she was also the one to apologize for forcing him to join a war he was not a part of. He didn't trust her at first, after all, she could secretly be working with Nohr; however, the sincerity of her words chipped away any doubt that had previously lingered. 

From that time forward, Takumi accompanied her almost everywhere. All she had to do was ask, and he would gladly follow. He doesn't remember the last time he's had such a strong attachment to someone; he always reminded himself that it was just his duty, it was his task to keep her safe. He trained hard to make sure his bow was always useful, to make sure he was still useful. 

That was why, when Kiran had ensured her trust and safety to another, Takumi felt wounded.

This wasn't the first time this had happened.

The first was when he chose the bow over blade because of a duel where his brother had completely overwhelmed him. Never had he felt so utterly destroyed. The second offense was when Corrin, more commonly known as Kamui among him and his siblings, returned to Hoshido. Kamui had the strength he didn't, and, once more, he found himself overshadowed by another. 

He held onto the small hope that he was finally able to prove his worth to someone. He hoped Kiran would continue placing her faith in him. 

It seemed that thought was merely a silly, boyish fantasy of his. 

He remembered the day Kiran had her first conversation with Prince Alfonse outside the battlefield. It didn't take Takumi long before he realized she looked at the Askr prince with a certain fondness that he could only dream to receive himself.

Takumi convinced himself that this was all childish.

Despite that, he can't think of one night he hadn't spent thinking about her kindness, or her tendency to fidget when she was nervous, or the way she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He reprimanded himself for acting like a boy who couldn't get over his infatuation with her. It _wasn't_ a crush, he constantly reminded himself. Crushes were for people who were blinded by the idea of love. Takumi doesn't develop crushes.

This was just a phase, it would come and go. Soon, he told himself his heart wouldn't hurt as much as it did every time he caught glimpses of Kiran smiling while chatting with Alfonse, or his stomach wouldn't fill with butterflies every time she caught him staring across the library before she flashed him a small, discreet smile. He _definitely_ won't fantasize about the number of times he wished to sweep Kiran off her feet and kiss her until he ran out of air to breathe. 

It drove him crazy how every attempt to forget about her only led to him thinking of her more. 

Soon, he concluded that he was finally going to confess. If she turned him down, it was better than him chasing after something he couldn't have. Kiran was busy when he wished to speak with her. Embla's forces were spotted too close to Askr's borders, so she had set off in the early morning with Alfonse and a few other heroes. At the time, he didn't quite realize why the castle seemed uncharacteristically silent when she returned without the other prince by her side. 

He decided to save what he wanted to say for later, but he couldn't find her. He asked around for her whereabouts, and they eventually led to the back of the castle where the others rarely frequented. He soon found her, and he realized that his inner turmoil compared very little to one she faced.

When Takumi saw Kiran in the back of the castle crying to herself, he felt all the words he wanted to say gradually fade away. For all the time he knew her, he had never seen her cry so openly. Her hood was down that night, allowing for him to see the heart-wrenching expression on her face as she sobbed.

Somehow, he knew this would be the last time he would be able to talk to her normally, but no words could be said to remedy her pain. Wordlessly, Takumi turned around and fled into the dark hallways with only the moon and stars as his witnesses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been dead for a while sorry but FELLAS, BOOK III?!!?!??!?!? oh my god, lif is so freaking hot i'm in tears. sorry to stack onto the feh book iii angst but i've decided to update (after what? a few months? sorry, this is overdue)! alfonse has me quaking i'm so shook
> 
> ALFONSE IS STILL THE MAIN LOVE INTEREST. although it might not seem to be going that direction rn. 
> 
> also if it seems that adding takumi was a spur of the moment thing, trust me, it isn't. i've been planning to add him for a while now bc he's honestly one of my fav fe characters and the fact he's the default first summon in the game. he's special.


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